Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars Page 9

  As if he’d realized they still held hands, Merrick jerked his free. With it went her comfort, and still suffering the chilling effects of her second sight, Anne rubbed her arms. Uncertain what to say, or even whether she should sit or stand, she leaned against a massive bedpost and gave Merrick an expectant look.

  As she waited for him to lead the conversation, it occurred to her that not once since she’d awakened with Merrick wrapped around her had her second sight given her any further insight to his past. Nor, thankfully, had it shown her anything else about his future. She furrowed her brows at the oddity. She’d hardly seen all of his past—in fact, what she’d glimpsed could only encompass a handful of years, if even that much. How had she managed to shut him out?

  “We are here, Lucan, to see your mark,” Merrick stated in a flat, unemotional tone.

  Anne flinched inwardly. This all felt suddenly strange and surreal. It had all seemed like some fantastic story—at least the part about a preordained mate. But there was no doubt about it, Merrick matched her, and for that, there simply wasn’t explanation. He obviously hadn’t staged the events, for if he had, he’d have called her on her lie.

  Mark or no mark, she wasn’t staying here. Not like Merrick expected. He had answers she needed. He held the key to her career; he could tell her what drove the Church to eradicate the Order. She was only humoring him so she could get out of here faster. Besides, it wasn’t as if he actually needed her help as Mikhail insinuated—Merrick was more than able to protect himself.

  But then, if that were true, just what did the vision of his death mean?

  With a grin, Lucan turned to Anne and bowed with a flourish, jarring her out of her confusing thoughts. “I would be honored, milady, to spend eternity at your side.”

  Uncomfortable by his formal display, Anne shifted her weight and hugged herself tighter. Definitely not staying here. She’d never survive that kind of constant flattery. Maybe someone else would find it pleasant, but she’d rather have someone with Merrick’s rough edges.

  Lucan straightened. “However, I cannot show you my mark. I fear it would be indecent.”

  Anne’s eyebrows lifted at the same time Merrick smirked. “Indecent?” she echoed.

  “Aye. ’Tis on my backside.”

  Her gaze dropped to Lucan’s hip, appraising firm buttocks. An impish thrill jumped up her spine. This could get interesting. She’d never considered that this mark stuff might give her a bird’s-eye view of prime male flesh. There was certainly nothing wrong with looking. But as soon as she caught Merrick’s dark expression, she choked down her amusement. Maybe not. At least he didn’t look inclined to let her investigate for herself. Damn.

  She summoned a sober, polite smile and asked, “Tell me what it is?”

  “’Tis a mark from birth.” He paused to grumble beneath his voice. Averting his eyes, he looked to his boots. “A spot which takes the form of a damnable heart.”

  Merrick’s guffaw brought the first scowl Anne had seen to Lucan’s handsome face. Gray eyes glinted like hard bits of charcoal, and as he squared his shoulders, he gained two inches in height. He stood taller than Merrick, but as Anne looked between the two, a burst of pride infused her blood. Taller Lucan might be, but more handsome he was not. Merrick’s untamed hair gave him a roguish quality the more eloquent knight lacked. Never mind how Merrick’s grin made Anne’s heart tumble upside down.

  He should laugh more often. Humor made features that were already handsome, breathtaking.

  Their gazes locked, and as Anne’s breath hitched, she felt weightless, like she’d fallen down a bottomless chasm. Merrick’s smile faded. The light in his eyes took on an intensity that made her shiver. “Does it match?” he asked quietly.

  Unable to find words, she shook her head.

  “Come then. As I recall you are hungry.” His hand closed around her elbow, setting off a wave of tingles that rippled up to her shoulder. Again, she noted, she didn’t receive even a buzz in her head that would indicate a coming vision.

  She gave him a nod, lifted her hand to wave to Lucan, and allowed Merrick to steer her into the hall. There she took a deep breath. But her guardian didn’t give her time to find her composure. With a stride that equaled two of hers, he hurried her to the end of the long corridor where he rapped on another heavy door.

  “Enter,” a bitter voice called.

  Anne wrinkled her nose. By now, she’d gotten used to that harsh voice. Farran. Joy. Exactly what she needed before dinner—a good dose of crankiness.

  Merrick pushed the door open. “Farran, we have come to inspect your mark.”

  Seated at an unadorned desk, Farran didn’t bother to look up from a thin book. “Does she have a burn? ’Tis the only mark I bear.”

  At Merrick’s lifted brows, Anne shook her head.

  “Nay,” he answered for her.

  Farran turned a page, still not bothering to take his nose from his reading. “Good, then. I have no desire to be shackled with a woman’s petty needs.”

  Anne gawked. She’d show him petty. She’d show him needs—right after she showed him a woman’s slap.

  She took a step forward, only to be thwarted by Merrick’s backward yank. He set both hands on her shoulders and turned her firmly toward the door. “I think not, little demon,” he murmured near her ear.

  “Jerk,” she muttered under her breath as Merrick propelled her into the hall. When he shut the door, she gave in to a very satisfying stomp of her foot. “Rude, arrogant bastard.”

  “Bastard he is not. Come, we shall visit Caradoc. Leave Farran to his brooding.”

  “What’s his problem?”

  Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, Merrick slowed his steps to match her shorter stride. “Would you not be angry if your birthright fell to your enemy, and your bride, your son, as well?”

  “How does that happen?”

  He fell silent, the tight line of his jaw an indication he found the subject uncomfortable. Anne waited. It would do no good to push. He was too stubborn.

  After several long seconds of quiet, he answered, “It happens when nine knights pledged to serve the Almighty wander in tunnels not meant for man, and one digs where he was forbidden to explore.”

  Anne slowed to a stop. A thrill wafted down her spine as she looked up at him with wide eyes. In less time than it took to catch her breath, the long-ago vision that came with touching the cross in her basement door took root in her mind. Merrick had dug in the dirt there, he had to be referencing himself. She wasn’t just with a man who held the knowledge of the past; she stood side by side with one of the original founders of the Knights Templar.

  “You founded this,” she breathed.

  He did nothing more than close his eyes. But before dark lashes dusted chiseled cheekbones, she caught the anguish reflected there.

  As her thrill gave way to a burst of uncontainable excitement, she clutched at his forearm. “The Templar knights went to the Temple Mount in 1119. Merrick, you were … are…” She trailed away unable to voice the thought. The unknown ninth knight. All the rest of the original Templar had documented origins. The ninth, however, had disappeared along with the relics they’d uncovered, his birth, his relation to de Payans, his very name, now lost to time.

  “Aye,” Merrick answered quietly. “Nine of us rode with Hugues de Payens to the Holy Land. The following year, seven more joined with me. The five who swore loyalty to you are all who remain. Hugues, Harold, and my cousin were all lost to Azazel. Tell me how you come to know of such?”

  She shook off her stupor and found a faint smile. “I’m a professor of early medieval history, and I’m working on my PhD.” She’d tell him the rest when they weren’t standing in the hall where anyone might overhear. Alone, she could explain her need for his help and why it was so important she return to Atchison and Benedictine College. Certainly he’d understand.

  One dark eyebrow arched. The hint of a grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Then mayhap
you know more than I.” He took hold of her elbow once more. “Come, little demon. We shall speak on this later. To Caradoc we must go.”

  Anne’s mind whirled as he led her through the maze of corridors. The Templar knights had found something beneath the Temple Mount. Sure, she’d accepted that fact, but hearing it now made everything so much more real. Better even, if what he found brought these men to where they were now, it was almost a certainty it carried the power to threaten the Church and instigate eventual sabotage. She couldn’t hope to discover anything better than this.

  But few artifacts carried that kind of power. Some historians theorized the Templar discovered the Holy Grail and it now lay in the modern order’s possession, carefully hidden and cared for. Others swore the knights discovered the ark of the covenant, and now ancestors of Ralph de Sudeley kept it secret. Still others claimed the Order found lesser relics, like pieces of the true cross, shrouds, and articles belonging to saints.

  As fanciful as the legends were, none made mention of immortality or archangels or demons. Whatever the Templar found, they’d completely silenced the discovery. So much so, they eradicated the truth. Something powerful scared the Church and she was about to discover what it was. Dear God in heaven, thank you.

  Unable to keep her tongue silent, she tipped her face up to look at Merrick. “What was down there, Merrick?”

  He shook his head. “We shall speak of it later.”

  Her stomach flip-flopped like she’d just gotten off a roller coaster, the same excitement and rush of the ride running in her veins. Tonight she’d prove her thesis. Tomorrow, when she met with Dr. Knowles, she could tell him he didn’t have to be concerned about his retirement, she would have her promotion in the bag.

  Drawing up short, Merrick stopped in front of another unadorned, heavy wooden door. He banged his fist on it, but didn’t wait for an answer before he tried the handle. The door opened easily, revealing yet another simple chamber. Didn’t anyone find modern electronics remotely entertaining?

  “Ah, Merrick. I wondered when you would come.”

  Merrick released Anne to take a seat on a heavy wooden chair. “’Twas wisdom that guided your sword today, brother.”

  Caradoc glanced up at her, his expression curious, but he didn’t acknowledge Anne. He focused on Merrick, his voice strong and lacking any trace of shame. “I did what must be done.”

  Leaning back, Merrick tossed one ankle over his knee. “Mikhail sends you away for your actions.”

  Again, Caradoc’s eyes crept her way. He took her in, in one sweeping glance, leaving her feeling exposed. Seeking to escape the sudden feeling of self-consciousness, she moved to the window and looked out on an enclosed courtyard where two men sparred. Pretending to watch, she tried to hide her impatience at having to wait for the knowledge she yearned to discover.

  “Aye. He has told me thus. We shall leave within the week. Tell me, brother, what brings you both here?”

  “We come to inspect your mark.”

  A low chuckle reverberated through the room. Hoarser, harsher, it sounded nothing like Merrick’s rich baritone. “I fear Lady Anne looks unenthused.”

  She turned around to find Caradoc half dressed. His long-sleeved Henley in one hand, he twisted at the waist, presenting her with a view of his back. On his left shoulder blade was the most magnificent tattoo she’d ever seen. With wings that were so detailed they looked lifelike, a beak so sharp it could shred skin, and a long sinewy tail, a regal griffin struck an impressive pose—chest puffed out, its head turned sideways. In tiny eyes, uncanny wisdom glinted. One clawed paw showed off a powerful lion’s body.

  “’Tis yours?” Merrick’s question held a touch of impatience. Or maybe it was excitement—Anne couldn’t decipher his anxious tone. She pulled her gaze off the brilliant symbol for protection and shook her head.

  “Yet you recognize it,” Merrick pressed.

  “No. No.” She glanced back, catching a brief view of the beautiful artwork before Caradoc covered it with his shirt. “It’s just … beautiful.”

  With a grunt, Merrick pursed his lips. “Do not taunt me so, Anne.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but sensed the futility and quickly snapped it shut. Wherever he found his logic, she didn’t share it. Arguing her reaction with him would only spoil the temporary truce they’d established, and she needed him in a good mood when she asked him to tell her the history.

  “I trust ’tis all you needed?” Caradoc asked.

  Merrick eased to his feet. “Indeed. We shall leave you to your privacy and seek out Tane.” He reached out an arm, fingers extended toward her.

  Apprehension tightened Anne’s spine. Tane bothered her more than Farran did—at least Farran’s eyes didn’t have the same shifting quality Tane’s held when he had knelt before her. Grumpy she could deal with. But Tane … She’d be perfectly content if she never had to see the man again.

  With an impatient wag of his fingers, Merrick beckoned. Reluctantly, she slid her palm into his and told herself she’d misread Tane’s expression. It had to have been her imagination—these men wouldn’t call an untrustworthy man brother.

  “Good luck, milady,” Caradoc called as they exited.

  Shutting the door, Merrick didn’t give her a chance to voice her thanks. He guided her two doors down and thumped his fist against the dark wood.

  Silence answered.

  “Tane.” Merrick banged again. His scowl returned as he pressed one ear to the door. With a mutter she couldn’t decipher, he stepped away and started down the corridor. “We shall keep one eye open for him in the dining hall. Mayhap he is eating.”

  I hope not.

  Steering her down another set of corridors that looked identical to every other hall they’d been in, Merrick walked with long, purposeful strides. He led her around a bend, then took a sharp right hand turn and rounded a smooth stone corner illuminated by an antiquated torch. The light flickered across the rough wall and exposed a recessed opening in the stone. Smooth stairs led down into the darkness. From deep within, the muffled sound of masculine voices rose in reverent intonation.

  Anne stopped, her abrupt halt bringing Merrick around to give her a quizzical look. She pointed to the doorway. “What’s down there?”

  “The inner sanctum.”

  Drawn by the lilting rise and fall of chanted Latin, Anne took a step closer to the stairs. “Show me?”

  Merrick grabbed her elbow, his firm hold not painful, but not pleasant either. He dragged her away from the arched doorway and gave her a nudge down the hall. As if a shade had lowered over his face, his features morphed into the firm lines of resolve. “When you have sworn the oaths of loyalty to your intended, you may view the sacred heart of the temple. Not before.”

  Goose bumps lifted the fine hairs on her arms. Sacred heart—if this temple held secrets, they’d be in those dark depths. Oh God, she was so close to the facts she needed, she could taste it.

  Not much longer.

  If she’d harbored any doubt at all about staying, that doorway erased it. If she had to wait longer than tomorrow night, she would—Dr. Knowles would forgive being stood up for dinner when she presented him with cited references documenting the Church’s malicious designs.

  CHAPTER 8

  Tane counted to ten, then twenty before he felt certain enough Merrick and Anne could not hear his exhale. He left his place between the bathroom door and his bed, and dropped heavily into his chair. Staring at the armrest, he traced the intricate carvings with his index finger and studied the wear. Centuries of use stained the wood a dark color. In places, the once-precise patterns were worn smooth. Once a regal symbol of his father’s status, the chair was all Tane had left of a life he longed to forget.

  He ought to burn the thing.

  But destroying it meant accepting he had naught. At one time, he would not have hesitated to part with something so sentimental. Yet now he could no more curb the jealousy that raged inside him than he could stop
the darkness from overtaking his soul.

  And he despised himself for what he could not control.

  He thumped a fist against the sturdy arm and shoved out of the chair. Were he not faced with the consequence of becoming Azazel’s knight, he would spend himself in battle and leave these disturbing thoughts behind eternally. Yet even death offered no relief. The only difference he would see was the inability to comprehend wrong from right, evil from goodness.

  He stalked to his tall wardrobe and flung open the doors. He stared at his clothes, noting their plain colors, the utter lack of anything that symbolized he was naught but a common man. Aggrieved, he closed his eyes to the shameful resentment of his position and shuddered out a sigh.

  Anne had turned these thoughts to intolerable levels. One look at that comely wench and envy suffocated him. He could not stand to look at her, for she spiraled him down this dark course faster than lightning could strike. Nor would he consider the possibility she was meant for him—he was a disgrace, a shame upon the Templar knights’ principles.

  Yet he wanted her like fire craved air.

  With the wench’s affections, his empty coffers, his tattered clothes would mean little. People would look on him with the respect they once had.

  Snarling against the traitorous thoughts, Tane forced the images aside. He would not allow the darkness to pit him against Merrick or his fellow brethren. This was the life he chose, the greater purpose than the wealth he had willingly cast aside. No amount of coin could make the difference the Order did. He did not need respect. What he needed was to be free of this maddening envy.

  He jerked an armful of packaged blankets off the topmost shelf and stuffed them into his duffel bag. Only one thing made the war inside him sufferable—spending time with those who had less. Marie and her brother David would be cold beneath the bridge tonight. If he arrived early enough, mayhap he would stop her from selling herself for a scrap of fabric, a bit of bread. A child should never face such a decision.

  Hoisting the bag over his shoulder, he stomped through the door and struck off down the corridor. He jogged up the stairs to the temple’s first floor and hurried to the recently renovated kitchens. There he pulled two loaves of wheat bread from the refrigerator and grabbed three cans of tuna. ’Twas not much, but ’twould help.